Helter Skelter
by IrishCreamTruffle
Summary: Oh yeah, we're doing this! MxJoyride and I are tag-teaming you guys! This is the sequel to Mx's wonderful Punkbrose gem "Ice Cold." The aftermath of Dean's encounter with Punk. SLASH! Dean Ambrose/CM Punk, Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins/Roman Reigns.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Woo hoo! I'm back again! I can't thank everyone enough who even paid the least bit of attention to my last fic - THANK YOU! Your support and reviews mean everything. They really do brighten up my entire day. _

_Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from The Shield in any way. I also have no proof that this scenario has ever happened, only a deep, yearning desire. _

_I hope everyone enjoys the evil plot bunny that MxJoyride and I have created late into these humid summer nights. I said to Mx: "Write me a Punkbrose fic." Mx said to me: "I'll write it if you write aftermath session with The Shield." I gladly responded: "Deal." _

_So here we are. This is the follow up to MxJoyride's scathingly sexy "Ice Cold." If you haven't read it, I __highly__ suggest you do, because a) it's brilliant, and b) you'll need it to understand certain parts of this fic. She is my lovely cohort, and I can't thank her enough for her bunny, typo-finding, and feelz!inspiring!support. _

_Soundtrack Suggestion: I was introduced to the amazing Meat Beat Manifesto, and it fully powered this fic. Anything off the "Original Fire" album is amazing, but the songs set my feelz on fire were __**"Helter Skelter '97," "No Words Necessary," "Horns of Jericho," and "It's the Music."**_

_Before I continue one with this fic, I must shout out the tremendous amount of talent in this fandom. There is, of course, the phenomenal Ambassador of Ambrollins: Mxjoyride. So many phenomenal pieces of in the Ambrollins universe: the infamous "For Real," the blistering hot "This Fire," and the softer but equally sexy "Red Velvet" and "After Dark." Glitterdune is another one who puts out amazing work. Her latest work "The Storm and The Dark," is such a hot and amazingly true character piece that it keeps me up at night. Seriously… I have problems leaving that thing alone. _

_More amazing authors that I'm salivating over: Transemacabre, LuvCMPunk314, XMasTreeLights, and Haunted-Mind-14. This doesn't even begin to summarize all the talent in this fandom, but it's the best my sleep depraved mind can drum up at the moment. _

_Ok - enough of my rambling - on to the fic! This starts out where "Ice Cold" leaves off._

Punk cries out and pulses into Dean's mouth, his taste rapidly filling Dean's entire being. Dean waits for Punk to finish completely before swallowing the whole load at once. Their eyes meet again and Dean feels their mutual euphoria momentarily connecting them.

"You always break so fucking easily for me," Dean says.

Punk nods once – a barely perceptible thing – and closes his eyes.

Dean licks his lips, savoring the taste of Punk's defeat on his lips and tongue. He can't help but glance up again, to drink down the image of his ownership over this man - this wonderful, complex, _falsely self-righteous_ motherfucker. This beautiful, stubborn, delusional _motherfucker_. Fucking Punk: full of so many lies and truths that he can't even begin to pull them apart. And he's so fucking passionate about every single one of them… naively believes them all to be truths. He's too fucking _stubborn._

But that's why Dean likes him. There's a purity to that stubbornness, and Dean wants to corrupt him fully. Wants Punk to see what _is_. But that's not Dean's call to make. Even _Dean_ can accept this basic, unwavering truth.

Dean lets his weight loll back slightly, and he makes eye contact with Punk again. He's mildly surprised that Punk mans up enough to meet his eyes, willing to expose more of himself than those beautiful fucking eyelashes. Dean's pleased to see the shining hazel of Punk's irises, see them grow larger as Punk's pupils finally shrink to a human size.

He doesn't have to look into Punk's eyes for too long to see his thoughts roll across. Dean laughs - _God,_ Punk just wears his fucking heart on his sleeve, doesn't he? He knows what Punk is thinking: Dean's resting there, _on his fucking knees_, and he's _all male_.

Fuck, he's still Shielded-out too. Full gear. Covered from head to toe - nothing slutty about him except his well-fucked mouth.

Literally - Dean can't think of _one_ feminine component of himself - not like fucking Seth or anything. His hair doesn't grow out nice or long or anything… hell, he's tried, but he just looks stupid like that. He doesn't have full or pouty lips. His eyelashes are curly but they're not thick. He's tall and lean, with an ass a white guy was _meant _to have, muscular and slight at best.

But Punk _still_ can't fucking keep his hands _off_ him - or rather, his cock away from Dean's throat for too long - and Dean finds that even more enticing. Fucking straight and narrow CM Punk can't resist his fucking _maleness_. When will he learn? _GOD, _when will Punk fucking _learn_?

But shit… that's not Dean's problem. Punk - that motherfucker can come to his _own_ conclusions on his _own _time - Dean's gotten what he wanted from the man. Dean regards his own throbbing cock only for a second - Dean's gotten _almost_ everything he wants. As tempting as it is to watch eventual _emotion_ after _emotion_ turn Punk's hazel eyes to black, Dean's eyes instead catch the hands of the clock behind Punk's head. Dean's still hungry, and he smiles.

Roman and Seth are done with their match.

Those fucking bastards… exciting him to the point of insanity and leaving him all by himself to suffer…

Dean lifts off his knees, shifts on the balls of feet, rotates smoothly, his back quickly and swiftly to Punk.

He shoulders his title and stalks to the door - it's fucking _time_, already - flicks the lock between his thumb and forefinger.

"Where are you going?!"

Dean freezes momentarily. He's surprised to hear the… shit, is that _panic_?… in Punk's voice as he moves to leave the room. He's surprised to hear Punk's voice at all.

Dean remains still. He doesn't turn to face Punk… not yet. This fucking _transparent_ motherfucker: he's speaking long before he even begins thinking, cum-drained and dazed.

"I'm leaving," Dean states simply.

Dean lets the words breathe, lets them resonate - lets them fill this claustrophobic, dense space.

Dean was feeling at peace before, but if he understands one thing about himself, it's that he's a temperamental man, changing moods at the speed of light.

And now he feels antagonistic.

Dean can feel Punk's desire to speak hanging in the air, but he knows Punk won't. Knows he _can't_. He doesn't even have the words _to_ speak. The first words were an impulse, a mistake.

Dean spins on his heels, the movement concise and stilted, whipping his own hair into his eyes in the process. He laughs when he sees Punk, looking _exactly_ like he thought he would, confused and like a deer in fucking headlights.

Dean really wants to kiss him right now. Real fast and real hard. Make him taste his own cum and the blood that he spilled. Make him _understand_. Make him _see_. Make him _feel_ beyond denial.

But there Dean goes again… circling this same idea like a hawk.

That's not how these things end.

Dean laughs again, mean and disappointed - in Punk and in himself. "I'm a _faggot_," Dean sneers, voice dripping with sarcasm. He raises his eyebrows incredulously at Punk, "Right?"

Punk swallows and glances down at the floor briefly before meeting Dean's eyes again. "I didn't say - "

Dean's not listening.

"I'm gonna go do what _faggots_ do," Dean raises his eyebrows again, mockingly. "I'm gonna go suck more cock."

Punk's eyes go wide at the crude admission. His lips part, and Dean's cock jumps in his pants. Dean notices Punk's breathing go shallow and his eyes go dark again.

"Yeah," Dean confirms, answering a question that was never asked. "I'm gonna go suck more cock," Dean blinks slowly, bows his head slightly to look at Punk through his eyelashes, "And you're gonna go back to your hotel room and pretend that your dick doesn't get hard just imagining it."

Punk's lips part further in shock even as his eyes ignite in anger.

Dean opens the door, eases backwards into the doorway. He could leave it like that. The damage has been done. But he's not good at leaving things alone.

"You know, this fucking system we got going on here," he gestures casually between himself and Punk, "seems to work real well, doesn't it?"

Dean turns his back again and steps out of the room, but not before catching Punk's eyes shift from confused anger to burning rage. Dean closes the door behind him just before he hears - _something_ - crash against it and break.

"Fuck you!" is the semi-muffled scream that immediately follows the sound of breaking glass from behind the door.

Dean smiles to himself before he comes face to face with two crew members (well, face to chest - these dudes aren't that big), stopping in their tracks at the commotion and Dean's disheveled appearance.

Dean laughs, regards them as if they've been his best friends for years. He throws his hands around and gestures to Punk's room with wildly overstated incredulity. "The fuck's that all about?!" He claps them both on the shoulder too hard, "Am I right?"

He shakes his head and walks off before the two men could even dream of answering him.


	2. Chapter 2

The temperamental shift has come about, as swift and unforgiving as Dean knew it could be.

Dean shoves his way into "their" locker room. It isn't really just _theirs_, but word was getting around in the back, and when The Shield was in a locker room, the other guys tended to opt for a different room.

He slams the door shut unceremoniously behind him, the loud metallic thud permeating through the space.

Roman and Seth whip around to face him.

Dean beelines for Seth, grabs him by the straps on his vest and tosses him back-first into the locker, adrenaline and anger powering his strength. Another metallic thud resounds throughout the room, and Dean's in Seth's face, nose to nose.

"This is all your fucking fault." Dean only looks at Seth when he says this, but it's clear that he's talking to Roman, too. Dean's hands tighten around Seth's tactical vest, his grip tight and shaking and white-knuckled. "You hear me? You fucking hear me? All your fault."

Seth's eyes go impossibly wide and dark at Dean's outburst. Dean's eyes are ice-colored fire, and his mouth is slick and dark pink. His lower lip is slightly swollen and looking only a few hours away from bruising.

Before Seth has any more time to think, Dean closes the small sliver of space and kisses him harshly, a desperate sound escaping him when their lips meet. Dean tastes like cum and something faintly metallic, and Seth knows _exactly_ what happened.

Seth's cock stirs at the taste, and he relaxes into Dean's rough touches, arches in closer to him and groans out any sound that Dean will allow to escape. It's sick, but fuck if it doesn't turn him _on_. Dean's offering himself up completely, in his own way, laying himself completely bare, torn asunder and kissing him with the taste of some other broken man on his lips. Some small part of Seth had always wanted Punk as well, had always wondered. This is Dean's way of sharing with him, sharing the victory. Seth whimpers and starts grinding wantonly against Dean, kisses Dean back voraciously. He tries to soothe over Dean's swollen bottom lip, but the extra fullness to his lip just excites Seth more and he can't help but hungrily suck at it, especially as the added pressure makes Dean push into him even harder, press their bodies together so tightly that the air leaves Seth's lungs.

Dean grinds against him desperately a few more times before tearing away, shoving Seth back once more for good measure. Seth pants against the lockers.

Dean starts pacing in front of Roman and Seth, fingers threaded into the roots of his own hair, body rigid with fury and anxiety.

"It'sallyourfault, It'sallyourfault, It'sallyourfault…" Dean mutters, his pacing picking up speed swiftly.

He doesn't look at Seth or Roman, just grips his own hair, eyes following his own feet with fascination, trying to speak in rhythm with them, "It'sallyourfault, It'sallyourfault, It'sallyourfault…"

He finally freezes where he stands. His eyes land on Roman, analyze briefly, and then move to Seth. Neither of them look surprised. Neither of them look worried. They just watch him pace, thoughtfully. Let him work out the flood of emotion and sensation whirling in his veins.

Dean's never loved them more.

Dean focuses, eyes finding Roman's off-colored ones this time. Dean speaks clearly, pointedly, his cadence sharp and disjointed. "It's all your fucking fault."

Roman's eyes narrow at him, eyes as pointed as Dean's voice, knowing and angry and steady. His irises don't flicker once under Dean's gaze. This small detail - Roman's stillness - makes Dean squirm.

"What was I supposed to do?!" Dean blurts out, because he can't take the silence anymore, can't take the _stillness_ anymore, can't take _their_ stillness anymore. So he offers - defends - with an explanation that was never asked of him.

This fucking stillness makes him feel like it's _owed _of him.

"What was I supposed to do?" Dean repeats, "Fuck, do you know how riled up I've been? I just keep fucking _feeling_ all this… this _stuff_… fuck, man, I don't know what it is."

Dean throws himself against Roman's body this time. He doesn't go to kiss Roman's mouth right away. He knows well of Roman's possessive streak - knows well that Roman doesn't take kindly to another man's taste on his lips (outside of Seth's). Dean loves it; loves that jealous streak, loves that it sets Roman free, loves that it's the coup de grace to that fucking beautiful but awful calmness within the man - that _stillness._

But Roman's angry - he won't give Dean the satisfaction. Not yet. He'll shut him out with his fucking calmness. Dean knows this.

"I was just reeling after my match, and then I was watching _you guys_… fuck, I was watching you guys, and I was just…" Dean revels at how Roman braces him, breaks his impact. Dean grasps at Roman's sides and licks up the side of neck, "I -" Dean sucks at Roman's earlobe sweetly, deceptively sweetly. Roman breathes shallowly at this and Dean sighs contentedly. He rubs against Roman's thigh, growls out his next words. "I was just so fucking _turned on_."

Roman sighs heavily at this, the sound hot and heavy, like it bears his entire being. He grips Dean's ass tightly, possessively, guiding him, pushing his leg in just slightly to give Dean more pressure.

"I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do with you guys? How am I supposed to cope? This isn't even fair." He growls these words into Roman's ear, loud enough for Seth to hear. Dean's riding his leg now, grunting roughly in the back of his throat, and he's so fucking unbelievably hard. Dizzily hard.

Dean screws his eyes shut and grinds frantically against Roman's leg for a few more moments, face in his hair, breathing the distinctive smell of sweat and Roman's clean shampoo. He presses his ear against Roman's shoulder, head turning so that he can see Seth now.

He catches Seth's gaze hot on them and he halts, lolling back lazily, using Roman to keep himself upright.

Dean zooms in on Seth like he's kill.

"And _you_…" Dean pulls away from Roman abruptly, almost rolls over to Seth, presses him tight against the lockers again. "_You_… _you're _the real fucking problem here." Dean watches as Seth's eyes go wide at the accusation. "I could've made it through your fucking match… could've _waited_ if it weren't for _you_."

Dean claims his lips again, hot and possessive and wet. Seth pushes into him, cock even harder than it was when Dean first kissed him. Seth kisses him, devours his lower lip, sucks it until it's red. Dean groans as Seth sucks at his tender lip, as pain shivers down his spine and to his cock.

"Yeah," Dean breathes, "You just started talking to Roman so fucking sweetly - so fucking hot - like you weren't in the middle of the fucking ring, in the middle of a fucking _match_ in front of millions of people. Like you were in our fucking bedroom." Dean buries his hands in Seth's curls, wraps the tendrils around his fingers. He forces Seth's head back, and Seth moans.

Dean laughs. _So fucking typical_. He tightens his fingers, lets his short nails dig into Seth's scalp.

He puts his mouth on Seth's ear. He wants him to hear every syllable. He wants him to feel every letter of these stupid fucking words in his brain.

"Yeah… it was like we were in our bedroom," Dean hisses. "You have no fucking limits, do you? No boundaries. Middle of the ring - bedroom… it's all the same to you."

Dean's rattling Seth's head now, gently drumming his skull against the lockers. Seth is writhing against him wildly, mewling and grinding their cocks together. Dean's not far from turning him around and bending him over. _God,_ he's really not.

"You made me want to be out there with you guys _so bad_. Shit, you just started talking to him and I wanted you guys like fucking crazy. Wanted to run down to the middle of the fucking ring and suck your cocks right there. Make the world see how fucking good I am at it. But no… you had to take so fucking _long_ in your match and leave me out here. Fucking dying. Fucking _needing you_."

Dean tears at the buckles on Seth's vest, rips it apart and yanks it over Seth's shoulders, pleased when it catches around Seth's arms. He sucks at Seth's pulse, wrenches the vest one more time. Dean bares his teeth in a grin as Seth hisses out in pain, feels Seth's pulse quicken and beat harder against his mouth.

He sinks down slowly to his knees in front of Seth, pushes up the obscenely tight black undershirt Seth wears. He mutters against the sliver of skin, tan and still damp with sweat and delicious. "Why would you _do _that to me?" He licks gently along the border established by Seth's belt, drags just the tip of his tongue across the expanse. Seth gasps and squirms, struggles against the vest caught around his arms.

He fiddles with the nylon of Seth's vest, first intent on removing it, but Dean thinks twice and freezes.

_No._ This is fucking perfect.

Dean breathes against the trail of saliva, feeling Seth shiver and push against him with his hips. He pushes Seth's shirt up a little further with his nose, buries his face against the smooth skin. "Thought you loved me…" Dean mumbles into Seth's navel. "Why would you _do _that? I wouldn't have needed him if you hadn't done that…"

Dean rests his chin on Seth's belt buckle. His eyes drift upward slowly, peering at Seth from under his eyelashes. Seth's eyes are pools of black, multicolored strands of hair sticking to his forehead. The rest of his hair hangs over his face and shoulders as he looks down at Dean, entranced and unblinking. Dean smirks as Seth flexes against his tangled vest and tries to edge in closer.

Dean trails his tongue along the leather of Seth's belt. Seth unknowingly mimics the movement, dragging his tongue along his own bottom lip in rhythm. Dean sinks his teeth into the leather. Seth's lips part further - soft, choked whimpers leaving him. Seth's cock pulses against his neck as he holds his gaze.

Dean growls and tugs against the belt with his teeth.

He pulls away slightly and starts undoing Seth's belt. "Let me see your fucking cock," Dean snaps. Dean comes face to face with the barriers keeping him away from Seth's cock. Adrenaline and desire and anger mix again, and he's shaking with their cumulative force. He tears at the belt viciously until it finally comes apart. He's clawing at the button and zipper of Seth's pants, using both hands to rip them open.

He yanks the cargo pants down Seth's hips, lets them rest around his thighs, and finally sighs in satisfaction when Seth's cock springs up, free of the constraint. Seth lets out a rough moan as the air hits him. He wants to laugh at Seth, taunt him for being _that_ turned because some fucking air touched his dick, but Seth's cock is dark and thick and hard against his stomach, the head glistening wet, and Dean licks his lips instead, ravenous and unstoppable. "Yeah," he coos. "Lemme see your cock."

He swallows Seth down to the root, and they both groan simultaneously. Dean breathes deeply through his nose as the head of Seth's cock settles in the back of his throat. Dean is content and euphoric in that moment. He feels the soft head swell slightly, forcing his throat to accommodate the extra girth. Dean holds him there greedily, revels in feeling every inch of that beautiful cock in his mouth, feeling how fucking crazy Seth is going even as Dean just _stays_ there. He swallows against Seth's cock repeatedly, can taste Seth's need sliding down his throat along with the pre-cum.

Seth squirms so fucking beautifully, arms frantically pulling and twisting against the tied-up vest, growling and whimpering and trying to push further down Dean's throat.

Dean finally begins bobbing on him, looking up to drink in the sight of him unraveling, just like Dean wanted him to - just like he _always _does - so easily - _every time_. Dean really loves him - the fearless motherfucker, ready and willing to be ripped to shreds - salivating and insatiable at the possibility every goddamn time.

Dean is in awe as Seth _continues_ the futile struggle to free his hands, pushing his hips against Dean's face in time with Dean's bobbing. His stubbornness is ridiculous, and Dean can't help but laugh around his cock. Seth pulls harder at the impromptu constraint, crying out at the vibration and pushing up against Dean more. Dean reaches around and grips Seth's ass, digs his fingers into that delicious flesh. Dean pulls Seth into his face harder, encourages Seth's desperate bucking. Dean's rhythm is more aggressive than Seth's initial movements, and Seth screams out, squirms and struggles and complies.

Dean is surprised when he hears Seth's voice. It's strained though, and Dean knows he's close.

"How could he say no to you?"

He releases Seth's cock from his mouth, but immediately replaces it with his hand, taking advantage of the thick saliva on Seth's cock. Dean strokes him, fast and hard and relentless. Seth's lips fall open, wide open, but no sound comes out.

Dean smiles up at Seth, his expression and body completely relaxed, in complete opposition to the hand that is jerking Seth furiously. "He couldn't. He did try, though. But he fucking failed."

Seth breathes out shakily as Dean keeps stroking him at that impossible pace. "But shit… why even fucking bother? You're so good. So fucking good. What the fuck was he thinking?"

Seth is starting to fold at the waist, the pressure of Dean's hand on him obliterating his body's strength. Dean smiles up at him fondly, loves Seth for saying what he needs to hear. Dean starts lapping the head of his cock as a reward.

Seth's voice is endearingly confounded. "I could never fucking say no to you. I would never fucking _want_ to say no to you."

Seth's eyes are steadied on him with a blackened focus, genuine and dubiously unguarded as they always are, making Dean vibrate inside.

He starts swirling his tongue around the head of Seth's cock, stroking Seth so fast that the muscles in his arm are burning. He wants Seth to cum, wants him to cum in the _worst_ way.

Seth folds forward further, and Dean uses his free arm to push him upward, pushing his back flat against the lockers, holding Seth there, guiding him to rest his weight against them. Seth slumps against them as he writhes against Dean's hand and tongue, his fingers clawing into the ventilation of the lockers desperately.

"Could never say no to this," Seth repeats weakly. "Could never say no to you."

Dean's hand quickens just slightly, aims Seth's cock in the general direction of his mouth. Seth's hyperventilating is the telltale warning before he cums. Dean smiles as the spurts land on his lips and tongue. Dean doesn't stop until Seth is finished, doesn't swallow until every last drop is sacrificed, doesn't lick his lips until Seth is trembling and wide-eyed.

Seth's next few breaths come out as ragged moans, and Dean leans his forehead against Seth's stomach. He peers out through a tiny space between Seth's arm and hip, gently untangles the vest from Seth's arms. He kisses Seth's navel, massages Seth's forearms with his thumbs. Dean's fingers find the belt loops on Seth's pants, pull them back up his waist, although Dean makes no move to cover Seth's cock with them.

He guides Seth around, mouth still on his stomach, and urges Seth to sit down on the nearby bench.

He parts from Seth, spinning back around on his knees.

He's greeted by Roman glaring down at him, black curls heavy over his shoulders. Roman's face is masked by the shadows from his hair, but somehow his eyes pierce through the darkness and glow at Dean.

Dean grins up at him, fearless and euphoric and dying to break through the darkness that this ominous man has cast between them:

"What? Did you think I fucking forgot about you or something?"

Dean threads his fingers through the belt loops on Roman's cargo pants, uses them to drag himself closer.

He mouthes at the bulge through the tough fabric of his pants, sucks hungrily as it swells larger against him. He looks up. Roman's eyes are still angry, sharp-tipped as they stare down at him, even as Roman starts stroking Dean's sweaty hair tenderly.

"Oh, c'mon," Dean murmurs against his crotch. "You're not still mad, are you?"

Roman doesn't respond, only strokes through Dean's hair a little more firmly, tugs at his hair warningly every time his fingers reach the end.

Dean laughs against him, burrowing his face against Roman's cock before pulling back. He grips Roman's hips, massages them reverently as he stares up at him.

"I thought you'd be proud of me," Dean drawls. His teeth find the zipper of Roman's pants, and he drags the metal down until fabric parts fully for him. Roman's breath hitches slightly and Dean's eyes darken from ice to slate.

Dean pulls Roman's belt open with steady fingers. "I fucking destroyed him, Roman. Broke him into tiny little pieces. Shattered him until there was nothing left but pathetic fucking shards."

Roman groans out at this, groans at the force of Dean's destruction, grips Dean's hair at the base of his skull and holds Dean completely still. Almost. "Yeah," Dean moans out, breathy, "I thought you might fucking like that part."

Dean pushes through the tiny give in Roman's grasp, captures the button of Roman's pants between his teeth. Even Roman's breathing is silent now, and Dean takes those few moments of silence, lets the silence enhance his concentration instead of letting it unnerve him. A few moments of working his tongue and teeth strategically, and Dean has freed the button from its loop.

"_You_," Roman hums lowly, eyes astonished and thrilled, "_You..._ are a piece of fucking work."

Dean shivers, delighted at Roman's crudeness. It's normal for Dean and Seth to swear; it's almost every other word that comes out of their mouths, but it's not characteristic of Roman, their graceful, steady counterpart.

Dean clutches the waistband of Roman's pants and boxers in either of his fists, tugging them down in one swoop with a soft growl. He salivates as the hard, thick cock is exposed to him, the same beautiful caramel color as the rest of his body. Dean is unable and unwilling to look anywhere else, licks his lips. The head rests against Roman's stomach, direct eye level with him.

Roman's grip tightens in his hair, and Dean looks up slowly, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from Roman's cock. Palls of smoke roll across Roman's eyes, some sinister darkness overshadowing the normal calmness. Dean smiles at this, this crack - this _break_ - this break that Roman will only allow for him. Roman smiles back, his regard fond and dire all at once.

Roman's free hand moves to grip his own cock at the base. Dean's eyes follow immediately, magnetically drawn to the large, strong fingers wrapping around the cock that he wants so bad. Roman tugs the fistful of hair again, yanks Dean's head up just a little so he can see his eyes.

Dean stares up the translucent grey eyes, gaze unbroken even as that hard cock teases him from his peripheral vision. Dean licks his lips once more, parts them invitingly. Roman huffs a small laugh in response, but Dean knows there's little humor in the slight outburst, the sound lust-drenched and enamored.

Roman rubs the head of his cock against Dean's lips, pupils immediately dilating until hardly any grey is visible. Dean wants to reach out with his tongue, taste the slickness on his lips, draw Roman further into his mouth, watch as his eyes go black, but Dean acquiesces, obeys Roman's pace for the time being.

Dean savors the feel of the soft head caressing his tender lips, tastes the light saltiness approaching his mouth. Roman holds him still for a moment, before his hand flexes at the back of his skull once more, and he's pushing past Dean's lips. Roman pushes in slowly, careful not to choke Dean.

Dean breathes out contentedly as Roman keeps his head angled upward, refuses to let him break eye contact, even as he finally settles all the way, cock fully seated in Dean's throat.

Roman lets out a shaky groan. He stares down at Dean in a certain kind of awe. Dean would have smirked if it weren't for his mouth being so full.

Roman smirks and caresses Dean's sore bottom lip with his thumb, "So, he couldn't handle this, huh?"

Roman starts thrusting gently, slowly, patiently. Dean moans softly, caressing Roman's hips encouragingly. He doesn't quite understand what Roman's suggesting, but he savors the hardness as it moves against his tongue.

Roman's eyes read him, narrow darkly as he continues thrusting at that tantalizing pace. "Couldn't handle this pretty, _filthy_ mouth of yours, could he?"

Dean assumes that the question is rhetorical, and starts to suck gently on Roman's cock, a slight provocation.

Roman's thumb rubs harder against Dean's lower lip, and Dean growls as the pain flows raw and static. His own cock throbs, strains against his pants.

"I asked you a question," Roman purrs. "He couldn't handle this?" Roman's thrusts pick up pace just slightly, almost imperceptibly. Dean moans, wanton and victorious.

Roman resists making any noise at this, but Dean watches as the sound vibrates up through his body, settles in his eyes: dark, lusty plumes. "He couldn't handle _you_, could he, baby?"

Dean groans loudly around Roman's cock. Roman speaks those words, the pet name, smoothly and sweetly as slow-moving honey. Dean shivers at the sound of his low rumble.

His voice and intent are a stark contrast; this is a provocation.

Roman pulls him off his cock, holds Dean's mouth a mere inch away. Dean looks up at him in wonderment, loves him intensely in this moment. Roman's eyes are dark and sharp like blades on him, hot and smoldering with desire around the edges. He respects the way Roman plays this game with him; admires his approach, unrelenting and methodical, patiently bending the curves and weaving throughout the complexities. He corners Dean, challenging him with unorthodox and stealthy strikes, with the grace and sleekness of a panther, his intentions as ambiguous as Dean's own, a worthy contender.

Roman strokes his thumb over Dean's cheekbone, a tenderness that's contested by a quiet malevolence in his eyes. "Huh? Why don't you tell me, Dean? You've gotten awfully quiet all of a sudden. Why don't you tell me what you did to him with that pretty little mouth, _baby_?"

Dean shudders again as the term of endearment is muttered at him lowly. He recoils in contempt at the sugary nickname. His skin comes alive with goosebumps; he shivers with desire, as the sugary nickname, said in that velvety purr, resounds in his ears and cascades through his blood. Dean glares up at Roman, can see Roman perceiving his turmoil, drinking it, _getting off_ on it.

"C'mon, tell me. Tell me, _sweetheart_."

Roman's eyes flicker with a razor-like joy, and Dean's furious - furious as Roman _feminizes_ him. But it's an odd feeling, because he also feels exactly as those words would make some 17-year-old fangirl would feel; some part of his stomach flips and he swoons.

Dean can't be entirely angry at Roman for his audacity. This is why Dean loves him; Roman goes toe to toe with him, approaches this from such opposite angles, forces Dean to be better, be smarter.

Roman's cock juts out straight, thick and rock hard in front of Dean's face. Dean reaches out with his tongue, laps at the head longingly. Roman's eyes ignite with lust, and Dean's vindicated; he swirls his tongue around the swollen tip until he tastes saltiness.

Dean smirks. He will take full advantage of Roman's failure to appreciate what he's asking for.

"_Of course_ he couldn't handle me." Dean laughs gently, his breath a soft puff against slick Roman's cock. Roman shivers, and Dean grins brightly. "I mean, c'mon Rome… who do you know that sucks cock better than me?"

Roman laughs shakily, shoots a quick tender glance to Seth, and then looks back at Dean. "Don't make me choose."

Dean can't help but laugh warmly at that, willing to accept that as a tie. Dean licks Roman's cock again, not willing to let the soft moment destroy his advantage over Roman. "But shit, yeah… I got Punk to cum in like, what? Four fucking minutes? Shit, he wanted it bad."

Roman's eyes are like scalding hot steel at the mention of Punk's name, jealousy making his body tense and rigid. Dean smiles again, drinks in the slow, unmistakable signs of Roman's unraveling.

"Yeah… it was fucking crazy. He kept glaring at me, like he could set me on fire with his eyes or something, making all these empty threats… starts swinging at me and shit… he tried for a good like… five minutes to pretend that he didn't want it, like he didn't fucking crave it… it was actually kinda endearing…"

Roman doesn't move… doesn't blink, doesn't breathe. Just _glares_. Dean absorbs all of this, amoeba-like in his desire, feeding on the tension - on the thick _stillness_.

The heaviness of the air makes Dean smile. He swirls the tip of his tongue around Roman's head again, moans a soft, sweet sound. "Yeah, the way you're looking at me right now? That's the look. That's look he gave me. Like he fucking hated me… but like he wanted me so fucking bad. Needed me. Just like _you_."

Dean can almost _hear_ Roman snap.

Roman growls, grips Dean's hair with both of his fists now, and pushes his cock into Dean's open mouth. Hard. Dean groans loudly, blood pulsing excruciatingly through his own cock. He relaxes and accommodates Roman's girth, revels at how hot and hard Roman is against his tongue, how smooth the skin is.

Roman pulls out just as abruptly, pulling Dean up with enough force that his knees are no longer on the floor. Roman bends down to meet him the rest of the way, puts them eye level, close enough that Dean can register every speck of color in Roman's eyes. Dean mewls softly and glances down at Roman's lips longingly.

Roman smiles at Dean sardonically, yanks his hair viscously and growls in Dean's ear: "I'm gonna fuck that motherfucker's taste right out of your fucking mouth."

Dean groans desperately and his own cock jumps in his pants. Roman drops him back on his knees and pushes back into his mouth. The pain in Dean's knees dulls as Roman pushes roughly past his lips, thrusts into his throat with frenzied movements, grunts echoing his movements.

Dean growls, slipping his fingers underneath Roman's vest and scratching him, digging his fingers into Roman's sides, encouraging him. Dean clenches his fists excitedly as Roman thrusts faster into his mouth. Dean's won. He pulls Roman closer into him, swallows against him, devours him further with every thrust.

Roman's scream is like a wild animal's when he cums, and Dean drinks him greedily, shoving him against the locker, pushing his face in harder, giving Roman nowhere to go as he shakes and cries out and shoots.

Dean doesn't let go; keeps Roman in his mouth for the sensitive aftermath. Roman finally pulls Dean off with shaking hands. Dean releases him with a gasp, and the room spins as Roman pulls him up by the hair. Dean collapses against his body, and Roman pulls their mouths together. Roman's fingers gentle in Dean's hair, and Dean mewls into the kiss, pressing in further even as his own bottom lips throbs.

Dean clutches Roman in an attempt to steady himself. Roman's body feels inhumanly warm against him, Dean's cock is pressed tightly between their bodies. Between how little oxygen he's gotten and how hard his fucking cock is, Dean feels suddenly weak… too weak to move, too weak to demand what he wants.

Roman rumbles a low chuckle and spins Dean around, braces Dean's back against his chest. Dean sags against him, gulps down air he didn't realize that he needed.

The first thing he sees is Seth, eyes flickering back and forth, pupils still indiscernible from his irises. His mouth is pink, agape in an obscene invitation. His pants are still open, just way Dean left him.

Dean sees Roman crook his finger at Seth, the movement relaxed and slow, entrancing Dean.

Seth drops to his knees immediately in front of Dean, stares at Dean's cock straining through the pants, licks his lips. His lashes are a heavy dark fringe over his eyelids. Seth leans in, moves as if to undo Dean's pants, but one of Roman's hands moves through their bodies. Seth halts, as if waiting for permission, eyes fluttering up to both of them unsurely. Roman just strokes through Seth's damp curls tenderly, brushing them off his forehead, mixing the blonde and black strands.

Roman's other hand goes to unbuckle Dean's belt. Roman lazily unthreads the button from its hoop and drags Dean's zipper down. Dean's breathing is shallow as his brain tries to comprehend which man to pay attention to.

Roman pulls Seth in closer, and Seth follows the silent demand, pulls Dean's pants down his hips.

Roman's lips are right up against his ear, and Dean anticipates words right away, but Roman just rests, breathes gently against him for few moments. Dean tenses, some strange hybrid of relaxed and panicking, more blood rushing through his veins and into his cock as Seth kneels there in front of him, wide-eyed and ready, just waiting for the word.

Roman chuckles darkly in his ear. "You're not gonna last very long."

A gentle tug on Seth's hair by Roman, and Seth swallows Dean whole with a low moan. Dean screams out, Seth's mouth almost painfully hot and delicious around him.

Roman's sucking at his earlobe now, rumbling something between a laugh and a coo against his sensitive skin. "Yeah," he murmurs against Dean's skin, tightens his grip on the back Seth's head, pulls him against Dean with stiff, quick movements. "You _really_ don't stand a chance."

Dean gasps and squirms as Seth's throat squeezes him tightly, as Seth moans like a fucking slut all over his cock, moans fucking harder every time Roman pulls his hair.

Roman turns Dean's his head towards him, looks him over slyly, drinks in his turmoil _again_, and Dean realizes that he's lost this battle. He's lost it in the sweetest fucking way as Seth's impossibly hot mouth sucks him inside out.

Dean groans as Roman covers his mouth again, and he pushes his hips against Seth's mouth desperately. Dean's being devoured from all angles, Roman devouring his mouth and Seth devouring his cock. There's nowhere to turn; he's deliciously trapped, deliciously at their mercy.

Dean pushes into Seth's mouth with rapidly dwindling strength, feels Roman's grip tense and thrumming against Seth's head.

Roman sucks on his bottom lip, so hard Dean can feel it going numb. He bucks frenetically against Seth, stomach coiling and his entire being drawn to a breaking stiffness. He shudders and he feels like his body is going to snap apart. Orgasm is rushing through him, blinding white.

Even over the static blaring in his ears, Dean still hears Seth moaning softly as he swallows everything.

Dean sags back and breathes - just breathes quietly, returns to earth.

When he opens his eyes, Seth is still kneeling in front of him, gazing up at them, eyes euphoric and glazed.

Dean smiles despite himself, entirely confused at how someone can be equal parts slutty and adorable. He leans down, offering his hands to Seth. Seth smiles softly, accepts the assist and lets Dean pull him back to his feet.

Dean is dimly aware of Roman pulling his pants back up over his hips, not bothering to tuck Dean back in fully and make him decent, just moving the pants enough so Dean can move comfortably.

Roman gently urges Dean completely upright, pulls his weight away seconds later. Dean hears the soft shuffle of Roman rummaging through his duffle bag.

Roman comes up behind Dean and Seth just moments after, slides between them, kisses both of their temples briefly.

He slings a clean, white towel over each of their shoulders, before slinging one around the back of his own neck. "Let's get cleaned up."

They move in the directions showers, but then Roman pauses, and Dean and Seth pause in turn. Roman's stares at Dean's mouth for a few moments before looking back up to his eyes, protective and certain: "And then we're icing that lip."


End file.
